


MotoAki Drabbles

by RetroLizard



Category: Togainu no Chi
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:38:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroLizard/pseuds/RetroLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Either based on my own whims or prompts submitted to me, will add more as they come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Akira fails at making breakfast

Akira groans and rubs at his temples after he ruins the fourth one. The first, okay, he could understand screwing that up, the first one never comes out right. Or, so he'd been told. The second one, sure, that's forgivable. Still getting in the swing of things. The third was pushing it - by then, he thought, this should be more or less figured out. But the fourth? Now it's getting ridiculous.

It's just adding to the long, long list of things that have gone wrong since he decided he'd surprise Motomi by making him breakfast. Cooking an actual proper breakfast is no easy task for a young man who usually sustains himself on the previous night's leftovers, or maybe cereal, or even a piece of buttered toast if he's feeling extra fancy. He thought pancakes were an easy place to start. He now knows this to be a lie.

The first batch of batter, made from scratch by careful measuring of flour and sugar and other ingredients, might have been okay, but when he reached for the baking powder in the cabinet he knocked something over with his elbow. Something that happened to be a container of paprika. That happened to have a loose lid. That happened to turn itself upside-down directly in his pancake batter. He stared at it in horror for many long seconds before risking a little taste of the paprika batter to see if maybe spicy pancakes could be edible. They couldn't. He threw the whole batch out.

The second batch was okay, maybe a bit too lumpy, but workable. Akira then waited for his pan to heat up before throwing some in and watching it turn almost instantly to charcoal. He decided it might be wise to turn the heat down just a smidge and try again. But then attempts two, three and four also came out either burned beyond recognition or so undercooked the eggs would probably kill Motomi with salmonella. He couldn't serve any of this with a clear conscience.

His batter supplies running low, he now has to decide what to do, as pancakes are clearly out. Racking his brain, he spots the loaf of bread and it hits him. French toast! Next best thing, right? He cracks open a few eggs, and is dismayed to see tiny shards of eggshell in the bowl. As he attempts to fish them out, he hears a voice calling him from the bedroom. "Akiraaaaa, come back to bed." Shit. He was supposed to stay asleep longer.

"I'll come back soon," Akira calls back. "J-just stay put, I'll be right there." In response he hears some indecipherable whining and grumbling, the usual business whenever Motomi wakes up and finds he has no one to cuddle. A faint smile pulls at Akira's lips. ' _Big baby_.'

Now to get this done as quickly as possible. He's pretty sure he's got all the shells out. Is this enough eggs? Probably? And then you're supposed to add sugar, right? Fuck, that looks like too much sugar. Whatever. Now that's mixed, so the bread...how much egg are you supposed to put on them, anyway? And he has to make sure the heat isn't too high, of course. He crosses his fingers as he throws the first one in and prays, _prays_ it won't burn this time.

He's so focused he doesn't hear the approaching footsteps until it's too late, and he jerks his head around to see Motomi standing there in his boxers, rubbing at his eye in a groggy daze. "What're you doing?"

"Damn, I wanted to bring it to you in bed and surprise you," Akira says with a defeated little sigh. So much for his attempt at the old romantic cliche. Motomi looks at the disaster on his counter and the spatula in his boyfriend's hand through sleepy, half-lidded eyes and smiles.

"Aww, that's sweet." He lazily comes up behind Akira and hugs him around the waist. "Whatcha makin'?"

"Well, uh, it was gonna be pancakes," Akira explains, twitching a little from the ticklish sensation of stubble and lazy kisses on his neck. "But those sorta failed. So, instead it's french toast."

"Mm, mmhmm," Motomi mumbles against Akira's skin. Akira glances at his face and he's leaning against the shorter body with his eyes closed, looking like he plans to fall back asleep right here.

"And I was thinking bacon too," Akira says, his volume just a bit higher, as if to wake the man up. He doesn't normally mind, but he _is_ trying to cook here, and the weight isn't exactly helping.

"Ooh, bacon." Motomi perks straight up. "I'll help."

"Oh, no," Akira says as he walks away to pull out another frying pan. "You don't have to...I mean, I was gonna make it for you..." He trails off a bit, looking at the mess he's made of the kitchen and his multiple failed pancakes and feels slightly embarrassed. "Sorry," he mutters quietly. "I tried."

"What're you apologizing for?" Motomi sidles up beside him. "Besides, I wanna help." Akira bites his lip, choosing to say nothing as Motomi sets about cooking several strips of bacon. He notices just in time - or maybe just barely too late - that his toast needs to be flipped and frantically turns it over, cursing under his breath.

\---

Hoping for the best, Akira downs a syrup-drenched bite of his french toast. It's...awful. Truly awful. He glares at his plate, like a sore loser saying "you win this round". He's about to warn Motomi not to ingest the disgusting creation, but he's way ahead of him and has already scarfed down half of a piece. He's not sure why he feels the need to ask: "How is it?"

Motomi swallows and is grinning from ear to ear. "It's delicious!" It's all Akira can do not to laugh while he watches the old man happily devour his breakfast, trying to decide if he has dead taste buds from all that smoking or is he just a good faker or some combination of the two. Akira won't touch any more of that dreadful toast. At least the bacon is good.


	2. AU in which Akira works in a cafe

He'd been working at the café for a few months when he first met Motomi. He'd showed up one day and had returned every subsequent day since. Akira was glad for it, because he was the only regular customer Akira could stand. The usual clientele at this particular café was as you might expect for this neighborhood; well-to-do businessmen and the like. They were mostly rude and treated the workers like they were coffee-dispensing robots. Stupid old stuck-up bastards, Akira thought bitterly.

Motomi was different, in every possible way. He'd chat up Akira every time he came in, about all manner of random things. He said he was a freelancer, but didn't talk about his own work much. He always wanted to know more about Akira. But more important was _how_ he talked to him, not so much _what_ he talked about. Though at first Akira hadn't been sure what to make of him, possibly doubting if his friendliness was sincere, he'd come to enjoy his presence. He liked him, if he were being honest with himself. Sometimes his might be the only friendly face he'd see all day.

It was dead one evening, and only Motomi was still around while Akira absentmindedly cleaned tables. The older man struck up an idle conversation with Akira as usual, and with nothing better to do, Akira ignored his work for a while to lean against a table and shoot the breeze with him. His boss wasn't around to give him shit for it, only he and Takeru were running the place, and Takeru couldn't care less. He lost track of time and only when Takeru shouted at him from the back to get started on the floors did he notice it was past closing.

Motomi apologized profusely for distracting him as he left, but Akira assured him it was fine, telling him 'good night' and waving before he locked the door. He went to the back and started filling a bucket with water for the mop, Takeru watching him with a sly grin as he did. "So, did he finally ask for your number, or what?"

Akira looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "...Huh?"

"Well come on, he only flirts with you _every single day_ , how long is he gonna take already?"

"W-wait, hold on a minute," Akira stopped what he was doing and put his hands up. "Just back up. What are you talking about, _flirting_?"

"...Are you fucking serious?" Takeru put his palm to his forehead with an over-dramatic groan. "Did you really not know?! Damn, you're even more obtuse than I thought..."

Akira knit his brows, thinking hard. "Was he really? I thought he was just being nice..."

"Nice my ass," Takeru laughed. "He wants you so bad it's not even funny. You know what he does when you're not working? Comes in, gets his coffee and leaves." Akira looked surprised. He'd always seen Motomi hang around reading, or on his laptop, or whatever for at least an hour, usually longer.

"Really?"

"It's so freaking obvious, Akira!" Takeru looked him up and down and sighed. "Well, either reject him or take him out already, one or the other," he said, getting back to his own work. "Shit's getting old."

\---

"Ossan, I wanna ask you a question."

"Hm?"

Akira had been thinking about what Takeru said, wondering if he was just spouting nonsense. Was Akira really too dense to see something that apparently everyone else saw? He had to find out for himself. "Tell me...why do you always come here?"

Motomi blinked a few times. "Why not?"

"This place completely sucks. Everything's overpriced," Akira said, taking a quick glance to make extra sure his boss wasn't in earshot. "All you ever get is plain coffee, and our coffee tastes like piss."

Motomi 'hmm'ed, drumming his fingers on the table and looking off to the side as he thought about it. "You may have a point," he quietly conceded.

"Exactly," Akira said. "So why come here?"

"It's not all bad," Motomi muttered. The pointed way Akira stared at him, awaiting an answer, must have clued him in: he'd been figured out. He gave a shy smile. "I like seeing you."

Akira's eyes widened. Deep down he didn't really think it was true and if it was, he didn't expect the man to up and admit it like that. Akira turned his head away and scowled a little, feeling his face heat up. "Th-that's a dumb reason," he mumbled.

"It is?"

"Yeah." Akira tugged at his sleeves, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands. "If you wanted to see me so bad, you...should've just asked me out."

"Oh." There was a long silence during which Akira felt like bursting into flames. He ventured a look at Motomi, who leaned with his chin on his hand, beaming. "What time you off tonight?"


	3. Motomi tries to get Akira's attention

'Akira's changed a lot.' Motomi thought that occasionally, particularly when he saw Akira that night, staying up late and hard at work editing his manuscript. But no, it wasn't merely that he changed - more like there was _more_ to him than the young man Motomi met a few years ago. There were personality traits he couldn't have foreseen, hidden talents. Akira became his assistant as well as his live-in boyfriend, and the longer they'd been doing this, the more involved in Motomi's work he became. Some days he even acted a little like a workaholic, Motomi thought, being the kind of guy who couldn't stop once he'd gotten started on something.

Presently he had loose pages spread out on the table in front of him, all marked with circles, cross-outs and his own barely-legible additions. As long as he could read them it didn't matter. He chewed lightly on a pen in his mouth, eyes glued to the page on top of a small stack he held in his hand. Once in a blue moon, only when working, he'd wear glasses, and he had them on tonight. He pushed up on the thin, silver frames when they slid slightly down the bridge of his nose. Too much time staring at words on a page made his eyes hurt, he claimed, and the glasses seemed to help. Motomi thought it was a _very_ good look on him.

He came up behind Akira and leaned on the back of the sofa, peering at his work. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Akira said. Motomi expected the monosyllabic answer. He watched over Akira's shoulder for a while and his gaze strayed down to Akira's bare legs, folded under him on the cushion. Wasn't he cold in just a t-shirt and boxers? Motomi decided to sit next to him. Akira didn't lift his eyes from the paper when the man flopped down at his side, nor when he shifted a little closer until their bodies touched. Motomi kept watching Akira wordlessly, wondering if this annoyed Akira at all. It didn't seem that way. They sat in silence for a while.

"Hey, Akira."

"Mm."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" He asked, cracking into a grin.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you have," Akira mumbled in flat monotone.

"Well, I do," Motomi said. Akira reached the bottom of the page and flipped to the next one.

"I love you too," he replied, still deadpan. It was obviously an automatic response, with no real feeling behind it. Motomi sighed, a bit miffed. He appreciated how hard Akira worked, really he did, but he'd been at this for hours with no break. Wasn't it about time for one? And it had nothing at all to do with wanting Akira's attention, oh no. That would be childish. He was only concerned for the boy's health.

Motomi stretched his arms and put one around Akira's back. He waited to see if Akira would take notice, but he remained focused. Motomi leaned in and gave Akira a soft peck on the cheek. The younger man didn't move a muscle and didn't notice the pout on Motomi's face. Of course he'd be a little frustrated, being ignored like this. He leaned his head to the side, settling comfortably on Akira's shoulder. This, he thought, ought to get some kind of reaction. Even a negative one, like being pushed away. However, Akira didn't break his concentration for an instant. Motomi may as well have not been there.

Deciding subtlety be damned, Motomi flopped straight into Akira's lap, forcibly, getting right in the middle of his work where he couldn't be ignored. Akira sputtered and looked down at him incredulously with the now wrinkled manuscript in one hand, giving him a look that begged for some kind of an explanation.

"Pay attention to me."

Akira groaned. "What the hell?! Were you a cat in your past life?"

Motomi crossed his arms, looking up at Akira sternly. "You've been working a long time, you know?"

"That's right," Akira said, his eye twitching. "Working on YOUR manuscript."

"Come on, it's getting late. Why don't you call it a night?" Motomi pleaded. Akira narrowed his eyes and let out a long groan of disapproval. Motomi replied with a hum of encouragement. (Communicating in sound effects was not a new practice for the pair.) He kept constant eye contact while reaching slowly for the papers in Akira's hand, finally yanking them away and holding them out of reach. Akira stretched out for them futilely before hanging his head in defeat.

"Alright, you win," he grumbled, and Motomi wore a triumphant smile, dropping the offending document and snuggling more into Akira's lap. He stroked Motomi's hair, watching as his eyes closed contentedly. "You really are a cat," Akira said. "See, you even like it when I pet you."

"Mmmm." Motomi gave it some consideration. "I do like it," he admitted. After letting Akira pet him for a while, he sat up, gave his boyfriend a gentle shove onto his back, and settled in-between his legs to lay face-down in his chest, hugging him around the torso. "I'm not a cat, though."

"Yeah," Akira said with a smirk. "Cats are way less needy and high-maintenance." Motomi mumbled something that might have been a half-hearted 'shut up' or something similar. Akira chuckled. Those actually weren't the worst things to be, he thought. Especially if all the old man demanded was some cuddling now and then. Akira felt his eyelids sliding shut and sighed, reaching up to take off his glasses. So he was tired, after all. Motomi's weight on top of him felt comforting, like being wrapped in a warm blanket with a familiar, nostalgic scent. He put his arms around Motomi in return just before he began to drift off.


	4. Akira Dies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the title wasn't obvious enough, CONTENT WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER. This was a request from Mahathecat, hope you like it dear. I MADE HIM SUFFER FOR YOU.

"Hey, didya hear that?" Motomi looked down at Akira, shutting his phone with a click. "The ambulance is gonna be here any minute, okay?" His voice only wavered a little, and his hand didn't shake enough to make him drop the phone. He was handling this well.

Akira's gaze didn't meet his. He stared blearily at the sky, answering with a pained groan.

"Akira, Akira look at me," Motomi said, using his free hand, the one not tucked behind Akira's back to hold him in his lap, to gently turn his face. "You're gonna be fine! You're gonna be just fine, okay? I promise!" It sounded like he was trying desperately to convince him, and he didn't know why. It was true. Of course it was true. The bullet just...passed right through. In no time at all he'd get the help he needed and everything would be okay.

Akira winced, his pain showing on his face, and his breath strained. Motomi's heart raced, this fragile sense of calm he had going threatening to break like eggshells.

They'd made some powerful enemies, doing what they did for a living. They'd pissed off plenty of lowlives who'd go to extreme lengths to keep their secrets from being exposed. This wasn't the first time a job had put them in harm's way, not by a long shot. But god, to be hit so suddenly, while they were just walking about minding their business...there's no way they could've seen it coming.

 _Why didn't he fire at me?_ Motomi found himself wondering this. Akira was just his assistant, shouldn't they know that? Why, why would they go for Akira and then leave Motomi without a scratch?! He didn't have time to wonder.

Akira's eyelids fluttered, more wordless expressions of his suffering forming themselves on his voice. "No, no, keep them open," Motomi said, patting Akira's cheek. "Stay awake, alright? Stay with me, Akira." Finally, Akira's eyes met his, and Motomi felt his own mouth form a smile, of all things. "That's right! Stay awake, just stay with me here!"

"M..oto..." Akira tried to say, gravelly and weak.

"Shhh, don't talk," Motomi shushed him. "Don't strain yourse--" He paused when he noticed how warm his hand and leg had become under Akira's torso. Very, _very_ gently, he shifted Akira a bit, pulling his hand out to look at it. Red. All red. With a downwards glance he realized his pants were soaked through, and the ground under them had bloomed in a shiny puddle of crimson, alarming in size.

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed under his breath, looking away and clenching his eyes. It was so much more than he thought. Where the hell was that goddamn ambulance already?!

"I'm okay, Motomi," Akira managed in a hoarse whisper. He was so pale. "It doesn't...hurt..."

God, don't say that. Say anything but that.

Heart sinking right into his gut, Motomi gulped, steeling himself. "Shhhh, you're gonna be fine," he said quietly, stroking the side of his love's face affectionately. "Just hang on, okay? Any minute now--" His throat was tightening against his will. This wasn't gonna happen. It wasn't gonna happen like this, not like this.

Akira's body shook with a horribly painful-sounding cough. Shivering, he knitted his brows when he looked at Motomi. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

The last thread holding Motomi together broke. He gritted his teeth, trying desperately to fight back the heat behind his eyes. "Why are you apologizing? _Don't apologize,"_ he said. "You're gonna be fine." He looked at Akira's beautiful, lovely face, and the trembling of his hands got worse. This wasn't happeneing, it wasn't happening. "You're gonna be fine," he repeated, his voice cracking. "Please stay with me." Akira said nothing, gazing up at him like he was still trying to apologize. "Please..."

Akira's expression softened, and his eyes slowly went glassy. Motomi rapidly shook his head. "No, no no no no," he begged, and gave him a light shake. "Come on, stay awake!!" Akira gave no response, verbal or otherwise, and Motomi's body and mind went numb. He tightened his hold on Akira, pulling him into his arms until his face was tickled by Akira's hair. "Akira, please..."

A few seconds passed, filled with a horrible, gut-wrenching silence. "I love you," he whispered near Akira's ear, reflexively, wanting him to say something back, an 'I love you too' or even just a hum. Nothing.

Motomi's mind frantically began to race.

_Did he hear me? Did he hear me?_

When was the last time he told Akira he loved him? When was the last time he heard Akira say it? When was the last time he held his hand? Did he squeeze it hard enough? When was the last time he kissed him? On the lips? On the forehead? When was the last time he made love to him? The last time he tasted Akira's cooking? Last night was the last time he slept beside him. How long did he hold him? It wasn't long enough. It was nowhere near long enough.

Motomi couldn't see. Everything went cloudy, eyes overflowing with salty tears while the arms that held Akira shook. "Akira. Please, please don't." His own voice surprised him. He hadn't heard it like that in longer than he could remember. That high pitched strain he couldn't control. Shoulders shaking with sobs that forced their way from his throat, he buried his face in the tresses of Akira's hair. They had the same familiar smell. He was so warm. It was almost like he was still here.

_God, no. You can't, you can't do this. How can you leave me here like this?_

He felt more than heard himself scream Akira's name, losing himself to something indescribably dark and horrible in his own chest. It felt like a black hole, and he wished it was a real one, that it would open up and suck him into it. It was no more than he deserved. He let this happen again. He didn't protect someone he loved, and now it was Akira who paid for his carelessness.

Distantly he registered the sound of sirens wailing. Too little, too late.

He ran his fingers through Akira's hair, held him tightly and wept bitterly, tears running down onto Akira's cheeks. He cursed himself over and over again, wishing desperately it was him instead.

Opening his eyes to pure darkness, Motomi felt his heart pounding away in his chest. He gasped sharply, shifting his weight and realizing he was in his own bed. "AKIRA!"

His shout was met with a sleepy groan. Akira was...he was here. Head still dizzy, Motomi reached out for him. His eyes were closed, but he'd just made a sound. When Motomi touched him, he moved, and whined. He was alive.

 _He's alive. He's alive. It was a nightmare, he's okay. He's right here._ His breathing heavy and labored, Motomi tried to repeat this to himself until he came back to his senses. It took surprisingly long for his brain to accept that this was actually real, that everything else had been in his dream. No, this was definitely real. With his eyes still closed, Akira grimaced, grumpy that he'd been woken up.

"What? What is it?"

"...s-sorry, Akira," Motomi breathed. His heart hadn't calmed down yet. "J-just had...bad dream...sorry I woke you up."

"Mmmm," Akira barely cracked an eye open, humming in acknowledgement. "Well, go back to sleep," he grumbled. "It was just a dream..." Characteristically grouchy.

"Uh-huh." Motomi nodded, and sighed deeply. _Thank god._

Without thinking he moved closer, putting his arms around Akira and pulling him into a tight embrace, to many whines of displeasure. He struggled a little at first, but Motomi was persistent. Eventually the younger man mumbled quietly and succumbed to being held. Motomi buried his face in the curve of Akira's neck, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

He wasn't going to let go all night.

 

 


	5. Their First Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first of my drabbles for MotoAki week, to the theme "Domestic Life"
> 
> Me? Write sappy domestic fluff? N e v e r

Akira was really getting sick of the smell of bleach. He got an accidental big whiff of the stuff and grimaced before getting back to scrubbing the grime around the tub, ignoring that steady burn at the back of his throat. He hadn't worked this long or hard on anything in recent memory, but he also had to hand it to himself, the bathroom was looking ten times better than when he started. Still not perfect, but it was getting there. And besides, this was the best way he could help. Unlike Motomi, he couldn't do much in the way of household repairs, but even he could get a dirty thing clean with enough time.

Tonight would mark their third night in the new apartment. The first evening they'd stepped in with their meager belongings shouldered, taken a long look around, and then their eyes had met. Akira seemed to be waiting for Motomi to say something - like that this was an elaborate joke, their _real_ apartment was actually down the road. But Motomi just cracked a shy smile, shrugged his shoulders and said "it's a fixer-upper".

A fixer-upper, Akira thought bitterly. Why not call it what it was? A complete dump. 'Shabby' would've been the _nice_ way to put it. The first night they'd huddled together for warmth under all their blankets (there was a draft, of course) and promised to begin work the next day, when they were rested, the weight of their journey to get even this far not so heavy on their backs. They'd worked almost nonstop since, and it was slowly but surely becoming livable, even nice...particularly since Motomi's first order of business had been fixing the window with the draft.

So, in the end, things hadn't turned out so bad. Akira found he could gain a lot from just trusting Motomi. This whole post-Toshima mess would've been downright nightmarish on his own. Without the man's help, he simply wouldn't have made it far, trying to navigate the chaos that was this country to find safety and shelter. That's if he'd have survived at all with Motomi, or managed to avoid capture at the checkpoints.

But Motomi being by his side, the way he always seemed to have a plan and know just what to do...it made everything bearable. Even if the early days consisted of hopping from one hostel or inn to the next, all of them either dirty or filled with sketchy people or both, and subsiding on a primarily instant-noodle, convenience-store diet. It was all going to be okay, Motomi had a plan. Like Akira, he didn't really have a home to return to, but he did have savings, enough to get them started; and like the miracle worker he was, he'd found them an apartment.

So maybe it was going to require a little work...big deal. That's a small price to pay to have a place that can be called home. As much as Akira wanted to keep working hard, like Motomi was, he couldn't ignore that after being at this for hours, his hands ached. His lower back had evolved from a dull soreness to more of a sharp pain. And his knees hurt. He was hungry, too, now that he thought about it.

Heck, he deserved a break. With that he stripped off his rubber gloves, set them down by the cleaning solution and left it with intention to come back and finish the job later.

He went down the hallway to the living room, which connected to a small kitchen. There wasn't much else to this place. One bedroom, a few tiny closets. The bare basics. By the look of things, Motomi had been working even more tirelessly today. The walls were depressingly dingy and covered in signs of age when they'd arrived, so it was agreed that once the more urgent repairs were done, a new coat of paint would be essential.

Akira watched Motomi for a moment as he painted. He was nearly done with this room, and the difference was palpable, unrecognizable from that unpleasant arrival just days ago. Much like the state of their lives right now, a clean new canvas to draw on.

With a deep sigh, the older man used his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. Streaks of white peppered him from head to toe, stark against his tan skin. His choice to wear torn-up jeans and an old undershirt had been the right one, as both were probably more paint than fabric now. Sweat coated his back, large shoulder muscles flexing as he moved. He remained blissfully unaware that he was being watched.

"Looks good in here," Akira commented, making his presence known. Motomi glanced over his shoulder and offered a proud smile. His cheek and the bridge of his nose, not spared by the menace, were also streaked with white.

"Thanks! How's the bathroom coming?"

"You'd barely recognize it," Akira said, and leaned his tired frame against a counter. "Have you looked at the time?"

Motomi looked over at the kitchen clock, eyes going wide. "Shit, that late already? Time really flew by."

"Why don't you call it a night?" Akira suggested. "Look at you, you're a mess." Motomi frowned a little at that, but he couldn't argue. A shower probably wouldn't be the worst thing for him right about now.

"Yeah, but, I'm so close--"

"Come on. I'm quitting for the night, you oughta get some rest too."

"Fine, fine," Motomi sighed, his exhaustion suddenly showing itself on his slumped shoulders, as if his very body had given up resisting. He put his paint roller down and wiped his hands off on a rag. "Ohh! I forgot to show you what I picked up!" No attempt made to hide his excitement, he went for the pile of boxes and bags, stuff he'd bought for the apartment earlier today, and Akira silently watched him sift through until he found his prize. He carefully pulled out...some kind of wooden box, with knobs and buttons on it.

He put it on the counter in front of Akira, brushed off a bit of dust, then put out his hands in a 'tah-dah' gesture and waited for Akira to react. Akira only looked nonplussed, blinking at Motomi a few times. Motomi's smile vanished.

"Oh, come on. Don't sit there and tell me you don't know what it is."

"No idea."

Motomi scoffed. "It's a record player, for crying out loud! Isn't it awesome?!" He flipped a latch and opened the lid, showing the inner parts, which Akira found equally unimpressive.

"A record player?" Akira considered it with crossed arms. "I thought we're on a budget, what are you wasting your money on stuff like this for?"

" _Wasting!_ " Motomi repeated, clearly taking it as an insult. "Look at it, it's in flawless condition! This was an amazing find, I couldn't just _not_ buy it!" Akira was about to argue that yes, he could very well have not bought something so superfluous, but Motomi had gone digging through his purchases once more and pulled out a stack of thin cardboard squares, their edges frayed and worn, and slapped them on the counter before him. "And look, I got all these too!"

Akira picked one up, opened it and pulled out the huge black disc inside. It wasn't like he had no idea what this was, he'd just never actually seen one before. Only heard about how people used to put music on these big, cumbersome pieces of plastic. "What is this, an antique?"

"No, it is not an antique," Motomi said with a snarky emphasis on the last word, taking it from Akira's hand. Then he paused and looked up in thought, mumbling. "At least...I don't think so." While Akira struggled to understand what was so enthralling about this thing, Motomi put the record on the turntable. Fiddling with a few more things, suddenly it began to turn, and Akira gave a start when it played music. He wasn't sure why that surprised him. He must've expected it to not actually work. Motomi turned a dial, slowly bringing the volume up.

A gentle mid-tempo melody played, the sounds of the orchestra grainy and distant. If it wasn't an antique, it sure sounded like one. While Akira stared as if mesmerized by the record's spinning, a woman started to sing, in a language he didn't understand. French, maybe? He could only guess. "Aaaa, it takes me back like you wouldn't believe," Motomi said, raking a hand through his messy hair and smiling.

Akira tilted his head curiously. "Back to what?"

He hummed, thinking for a moment. "Going to my grandparents' house in the countryside, when I was a little kid," he finally said. "They'd listen to stuff like this a lot."

Akira had only so many pleasant memories of childhood to visit, but even he could relate to the feeling, somewhat. And he'd heard that music had a way of jogging people's memories. Clearly, this was doing something for Motomi it wasn't quite doing for Akira - he'd even closed his eyes as he listened to it. It was like he'd really traveled back in time. A smile pulled at the corner of Akira's mouth, seeing the other man enjoy himself. Well...the song was very pretty, he could give him that.

"Akira!" Motomi said suddenly, bringing himself out of his reverie and making Akira jump like a startled cat. He outstretched his arms. "Dance with me."

"Huh?" Looking incredulous, Akira almost laughed. "Why?"

"Because I feel like it. C'mon." Akira stayed seated, furrowing his brow at Motomi in doubt, and the other man pleaded with his eyes. "Aww, come on, I'm feeling nostalgic here! Just indulge me."

"I don't...know how to dance," Akira said bashfully, but he'd already begun to get to his feet.

"Everyone knows how!" Motomi beckoned with his hand. "C'mere." Taking that last little push of encouragement, Akira moved closer to him, and Motomi deftly took hold of his hands, guiding them where they needed to go. One on his shoulder, the other held in his hand. Then he wrapped a strong arm around Akira's waist, closing the space between them.

"Hey! You're gonna get paint on my clothes," Akira grumbled, and squirmed in Motomi's grasp.

"Relax, it's dry."

Akira would just have to trust that, or otherwise say goodbye to this shirt. "So...now what?"

"Just move your feet when I move mine," Motomi said. With one large hand holding the small of his back and the other lacing fingers through his own, he started to move. Already, Akira's cheeks were turning a shade pinker, just from these little touches -  he wasn't so used to this whole boyfriend thing yet. Then Motomi's bare feet moved on the wood floor, and as instructed, Akira tried to mirror him. He wasn't moving very much. Just little steps, somewhat following the music's rhythm.

"See? You got it." Motomi's voice was surprisingly soft by his ear, and Akira could hear his smile. Comforting as that was, though, Akira wasn't sure he _did_ have it. He felt so clumsy. He tried his best to keep up, really he did, but this was a foreign sensation for him. His movements stiff and awkward, he accidentally stepped on Motomi's foot.

"I told you, I can't dance," he stammered, face burning up as he pouted. Grace was something he'd never have, so he should just quit now.

"You can too," Motomi said. "Just try to relax." He was calm and cheerful, totally unperturbed by Akira's sour mood. He tightened his arm around Akira's upper body in a comforting way, the sensation more like a hug than anything else, and slowly swayed with him. Akira tried his best to do just that.  Relax, relax, he told himself. He took a deep breath, trying to detach himself from the need to do it "right", and followed Motomi's movements the best he could.

Slowly but surely, it was working. He did feel a little more relaxed, once he stopped trying so hard. It even felt kinda nice, kinda natural, maybe even fun. "There you go. I told you you can do it," Motomi said quietly.

With a prickling warmth in his neck and face, Akira realized the way Motomi held him made him feel more safe and relaxed than anything else, and wanted to scold himself for having the mentality of a smitten schoolgirl.

But every day that went by he understood, just a little bit more, one important thing: 'It's okay. _It's okay_ to feel good about this. It's okay to like it when he kisses me, or touches my hand, or even when he insists on squeezing me in his arms when we fall asleep at night. I can like those things. God knows _he_ does.'

With that in mind, Akira laid his head on the taller man's shoulder, letting out a sigh. He expected Motomi to smell more like paint thinner or sweat or something else unpleasant, but he smelled nice. Kind of musky and earthy, with less traces of tobacco than usual. He inhaled it slowly.

"Do I smell good?" Motomi asked. Damn. He'd been caught sniffing.

"You do, actually," Akira admitted softly. His eyelids were getting heavy, taking longer and longer blinks, and it amazed him that he could feel sleepy while dancing. A laugh rumbled through Motomi's chest.

"Wish I could say the same," he said. "You smell like bleach."

"Shuddup," Akira muttered, too sleepy to sound particularly angry. It merely made Motomi chuckle at him again. Still they kept dancing, though it was admittedly lazier, more of a gentle rocking to the music than anything else.

"Say, is this...some sappy love song?" Akira wondered aloud in a haze.

"Well, uh....yes," Motomi said. "It is. Why?"

"S'just like you," Akira sighed, snuggling lightly into Motomi's chest. "Making me dance to something all...cheesy and sentimental."

"What's wrong? You haven't got any sentimentality?"

"Nah," Akira answered quickly, and yawned. "None whatsoever."

Motomi gave a snort of laughter. "Suuuuure you don't."

Akira somehow, despite how his consciousness ebbed away even now, kept slowly dancing with him, letting him lead, letting him indulge himself as long as he wanted. Motomi decided to use him like a pillow, evidenced by the weight on top of Akira's head and the scruffy feeling of his cheek tickling Akira's hair. They were quiet for a while, until Motomi asked: "So, still think I wasted my money?"

Thinking about the question, Akira cracked open his eyes and looked at his hand wrapped in Motomi's, those big fingers all dirty and stained with paint. His own twitched a little, tightening to give him the faintest squeeze. "Nope," he eventually replied. "Not if it makes you happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. In my mind they're listening to La Vie en Rose.


	6. Motomi injured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another entry for MotoAki week. On one of their trips, Motomi got himself injured pretty badly, and Akira has to deal with it. P.S. It's not angst!

Akira was almost annoyed by his own predictability. Whenever something really bad happened, his brain would do this to him - playing sights and sounds over and over without his permission, like a tape stuck on a loop. It ranged anywhere from irritating to torturous. Back in Toshima, the terrible experiences he had there would replay like this too.

Not that this was anything like Toshima. There were no blades, no blood, no sick reddish stains on pavement. The setting this time was serene: water glittering in the light of a sunrise. Walls of lush trees in all directions. The tranqulity of nature that Akira had become accustomed to, ever since Motomi started taking him on these outdoor excursions. Their voices echoed on the landscape as they argued...bickered, is more like it. Then, a turn of events that made Akira's heart plummet into his gut. Branches snapping. Rocks and earth crumbling, falling down. Motomi falling with it, vanishing from Akira's sight.

Akira shook his head, begging those memories to leave him alone. He wasn't there anymore...he was here, safe and sound in his own kitchen, and everything was okay. Maybe his heart was more shaken up than he thought - like he couldn't reconcile that instant of sheer terror, fleeting as it had been. The glowing numbers on the clock above the oven read '9:01', so he stopped cleaning (He hadn't really been cleaning as much as standing spaced out with a towel in his hand) and found the bottle with Motomi's pills.

"Time to take your medicine," he announced a moment later, and went into the living room with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He plopped down in the chair he'd placed near the sofa, where Motomi was still comfortably reclined, plush pillows propping up his head on one end and his casted leg on the other. The other leg was wrapped up and currently almost as useless as its twin. One of Motomi's wrists sported a cast of its own. He also had a sling, tons of bandages covering his cuts, some nice dark bruises...all in all, more of him came out injured than uninjured. He looked like someone who'd been either very lucky, or very unlucky, depending on how you wanted to look at it.

"Really? But I don't hurt anywhere," Motomi slurred, looking at Akira through sleepy eyes and taking the pill when it was handed to him.

"Yes, but you still have to take them when the doctor says to take them. It takes a while to kick in, so if you wait until the current ones wear off, you'll just be in pain."

"Oh, yeah," Motomi said, and gave Akira the same goofy grin he usually wore when he was drunk. He should've known that, but he was a bit...slow on the uptake, presently. He was on so many painkillers, Akira was surprised he was still conscious. After struggling a little with the water and taking his pill, he handed the glass back.

"You're sure nothing hurts?" Akira asked, looking him up and down and trying to imagine what all those fractures and sprains must feel like.

"Nah, I feel fine." Looking at his own fingers, Motomi flexed them, like he was testing them out. He chuckled. "Everything's gooooood."

"If you say so," Akira sighed. High as kite was better than being in horrible pain, of course, but he wondered just how long Motomi was gonna be like this. "Need anything else? Hungry?"

"Mmmm...nope."

"Tea?"

"Nahh." Motomi waved his hand, the one he could still move, dismissively. "Come ooonn, you don't need to fuss over me so much."

"Yes I do," Akira replied curtly. "You're not to walk on that leg unassisted or use that arm for anything until I say you're allowed, got it?"

"Alright, alriiiight. Touchy." Motomi pouted at him, sensing there was a deeper reasoning behind Akira's nasty tone. "Are you angry at me?"

That pout didn't inspire Akira's sympathy. The relief that Motomi was alive and in one piece had been all he felt at first, and after that he could only feel pity for his pain. But now, his irritation with Motomi's carelessness was setting in. He'd held this in as long as he could stand it. "You just _had_ to get the _perfect_ shot of that stupid lake," he muttered angrily.

"But it looked so pretty, with the sunrise and everything," Motomi defended himself sheepishly.

"And you just _had_ to go so far out on that damn ledge, even though I _told_ you to be careful and that it didn't look stable."

"W-well, I wanted to...yanno, get the angle just right..."

"But you didn't get the shot, did you?" Akira asked pointedly.

"No," Motomi sighed, defeated. Their incredibly expensive camera had been smashed to pieces along with some of Motomi's bones when he lost his footing and fell from the ledge. He'd been fortunate, really, having come away with just some breaks and bruises and nothing more severe; eventually all his injuries would heal and he'd be back to his old self. Though, he had given Akira the scare of a lifetime, and destroyed their treasured camera and all of the pictures that were still in it. "Don't worry, I'll save up and buy a new camera, an even better one," he offered with a shy smile.

Akira snapped. "You think **that's** what I'm angry about?!" Motomi visibly flinched at the anger in his voice, a fury he'd seldom, maybe never seen in him before. "The camera's replaceable, you idiot!! You aren't!!" After his outburst came a long, tense silence.

Akira's face scrunched up, whispering 'damn it' as the floodgates began to break. Clenching his teeth, tears started to form in his eyes and he held them back as much as he could. "Akira, I..." Motomi stammered a little, but was too surprised to find anything to say.

"You could've been killed," Akira said, his voice cracking. A tear ran down his cheek, soon to be joined by others. "Don't you realize that? You could've easily hit your head on a rock or snapped your neck or something!"

"I know," Motomi said in a pathetically small voice, watching Akira break down into full blown crying.

Akira felt his face heat up and didn't know if he was embarrassed or angry or what. He couldn't even see through the tears clouding up his vision, and he quickly tried to dry them on his sleeve. "How could you be so careless? I thought I-" He choked slightly, gulping and trying to get his voice under control. "I thought I lost you for a second."

Motomi gave a soft, drawn-out 'ah', like he was suddenly understanding. "No wonder you're so mad at me." He reached up and put his hand on Akira's face, wiping away tears with his thumb. Akira looked at him and those kind brown eyes looked back, as terribly sad as he'd ever seen them. "Oh, Akira..." The man's fingers gently stroked his cheek. "Come here," he said. He gestured for Akira to lean down, and Akira did as he wanted - carefully, sure not to put any stress on his injuries - and laid his head where Motomi guided it onto his shoulder.

Akira buried his face in Motomi's shirt and gave a loud sniffle. Motomi shushed him softly, stroking his hair. "It's okay," he murmured, planting a kiss on Akira's head and relaxing against him with a slow exhale. "I'm still here."

"I know," Akira said. He hated that croak in his voice, and his shoulders were trembling a tiny bit, but the gesture was calming him down. He hated how Motomi could do that just by petting him like he were a cat. As usual, Akira found this was a difficult man to stay angry at.

"You know there's nothing I hate more than seeing you cry," Motomi said softly. "That cute face shouldn't ever look so sad."

"And it's all your fault," Akira teased.

"Yeah, it is," he sighed. "I feel like the biggest jerk ever." Part of Akira wanted to agree that yes, he was a jerk. A big, dumb jerk. But that would make Akira even dumber for loving him so damn much, so he kept quiet. He noticed he'd made a slight wet patch on Motomi's shirt, and sat up to dry his face. "Hey, look at me," Motomi said, and their gazes locked, his eyes serious. "I learned my lesson, okay? I promise, I'm gonna be a lot more careful from now on."

Akira cracked a smile. "You'd better. We made a deal, remember?"

Motomi nodded and hummed. "Neither of us is allowed to die," he recited, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Akira could scold him more if he were so inclined, but he could tell Motomi was sorry. Besides, all those injuries were quite enough punishment on their own without Akira laying on some more.

"I'm glad you don't hurt anywhere," Akira said on that thought, feeling much better after a deep breath. Motomi blinked at him a few times, the gears in his head slowly turning, and looked down at himself.

"Actually, it is starting to hurt."

"Really? Where?"

He nodded towards his cast. "My wrist," he said, and gave Akira an impish look. "Are you gonna kiss all my boo-boos better?"

The reaction he got was not the one he was counting on. Akira squinted at him in complete confusion. "...Huh?" Motomi realized too late that Akira didn't have a normal childhood, and most likely hadn't even heard that phrase. Which, incidentally, opened the door for an even naughtier idea.

"You mean you never heard that before? Kissing makes injuries heal faster," he explained.

"What are you talking about? That...that doesn't make any sense."

"It's a scientifically proven fact," he continued with an air of confidence. "They've done studies and everything, injuries that got kisses from loved ones healed faster than those that didn't."

Akira opened his mouth to argue but then closed it, looking at Motomi quizzically. "...Really?"

"Yeah, really!" Motomi offered up his bum wrist. "Give it a try." To say Akira was skeptical was an understatement, and he stared at the older man for several seconds with a look that begged to know if he was serious. Finally he caved. It couldn't hurt to try. He leaned down and planted a little kiss on it.

"...Anything?"

Motomi hummed, carefully turning his hand over and back again. "I think it feels a little better," he concluded with a smile.

Akira gave a snort of laughter. He wasn't exactly buying this, but somehow he wanted to play along. "Anywhere else hurt?"

With a nod, Motomi indicated his legs. "My legs are sore," he said, a slight whiny quality to his voice that could have been annoying if he weren't genuinely pitiable. Resigned to see this silly idea through, Akira got up to gently pepper both injured legs with healing kisses. When he glanced up at Motomi's face, the man was struggling to hide his delight.

"Where else?"

Motomi poked at his stomach.

"You didn't even get hurt there!" Akira said, and Motomi laughed.

"Did too! It's really sore, honestly."

Akira humored his poor laid-up boyfriend, pushing up the bottom of his shirt to give a delicate kiss to his tummy. The pattern continued, Motomi pointing to something and Akira kissing it, no matter how strange. His elbow. His collarbone. His forehead. This left their faces only inches apart when he glanced down at Motomi. "...Well? All better?"

A slow shake of his head. Not breaking eyes away from Akira's, Motomi poked at his lips with one finger. Akira sighed, wearing a 'what am I gonna do with you' kind of smile. There was no saying no to that, was there?

He leaned forward and touched his lips to Motomi's softly. He hadn't noticed his face was cold until Motomi's warmth seeped into his skin. Motomi pecked lightly at Akira's mouth, a sweet, apologetic sort of thing. Akira returned the gesture. His meanness might have warranted a little apology, too. They drew the kiss out longer than it needed to be, enjoying the taste of each other. This warmth, this smell, the faint but audible sigh in Motomi's throat...Akira soaked it all up, let it remind him the love of his life was still here. He even put a hand on the side of the other man's face, gently stroking his cheek, his strong jaw, the prickly line of his stubble.

Motomi's hooded eyes peered at him when he finally broke away. The guy looked so damn satisfied with himself, Akira laughed. "Okay, that better have done the trick," Akira said, "because it's all you're getting."

The other man replied with a pleased hum. He took a few long blinks and turned his face as he yawned, finally closing his eyes as his head lolled onto its pillow. Looked like those pills were kicking in at last. Good, Akira thought, get some rest already.

It would have been better for him to actually go to bed, but the laws of physics and gravity weren't about to let Akira carry the big guy off like a princess, so for now he'd have to sleep here. There was a thick blanket on the back of the sofa, and Akira carefully pulled it down, sure not to disturb him while he pulled it over Motomi's body, tucking it around his shoulders.

For good measure, he kissed the man's forehead, too. Motomi, out like a light, didn't so much as twitch. Just seeing his peaceful face put Akira's heart at ease. He'd sleep okay tonight, too.


	7. Chiral Cafe AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last drabble for MotoAki week. Inspired by the Chiral Cafe Drama CD(s) which you should absolutely listen to ASAP.

Motomi hadn’t had many customers tonight, and he was perfectly okay with that. His ramen stand was empty save for himself, and he took advantage of the lull to clean. Soap bubbles covered his hands while he scrubbed at some dishes, and was in the middle of singing a favorite song under his breath.  
He didn’t mind business being slow, as long as he got enough to keep afloat.

He heard approaching footsteps and turned his head to see the dark outline of someone pushing through the noren. “Irasshai–” he called out reflexively, and as his customer entered the light of his stand, the dark formal uniform and mop of silver hair made for a familiar sight. Motomi beamed. “Hey! If it isn’t my favorite customer!”

Akira, one of the waiters from Chiral Cafe next door, didn’t respond verbally or otherwise to the greeting, quickly sitting himself in a stool. His eyes downcast, he had such a gloomy air about him, Motomi could almost see a grey cloud over his head. “My usual, please.”

Though Akira was never the most expressive, clearly something was off today. ‘Favorite customer’ wasn’t just something Motomi just said to be nice, it was true. At least a few times a week Akira would stop over for ramen after his shift, once in a blue moon with a coworker in tow like Rin, Youji or Konoe, but usually he came by himself. Motomi enjoyed seeing his face every single time - but he didn’t enjoy seeing it quite so glum. He gave a sympathetic smile. “Bad day?”

“Yes,” Akira said with a frustrated sigh, leaning his chin on his hand.

“Lemme guess,” Motomi said as he prepared Akira’s usual bowl of shoyu ramen with extra-hard noodles. “Rai and Shiki break something again?” He could almost laugh, absurd as those two’s antics were, but Akira wouldn’t take kindly to that. “Oh, or did that weird Zenya kid come back and cause trouble?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Akira said simply, staring off into space while idly rapping his fingers on the counter. Yikes. That bad?

“Mm. Okay,” Motomi said. He didn’t take offense at the younger man’s curtness. His manners had never been great, even on a good day, and obviously some pretty serious unpleasantness had gone down today, so it surely wasn’t personal. Motomi knew he was actually a pretty sweet kid.

Various hot surfaces sizzled and sent up clouds of steam while Motomi cooked. He carefully watched the boiling noodles, sure not to overcook them. Distracted by his work, it surprised him when suddenly Akira spoke up. “You ever feel like everyone around you is completely incompetent and you’re the only one you can count on to do anything right?” He spat this out rather quickly, like it needed so badly to get out of his mouth that he couldn’t contain it any longer.

Motomi hummed and nodded. “I’ve been in situations like that.”

Akira gave an annoyed groan. “If I were Bardo I swear I would’ve fired half those idiots by now,” he said, rubbing two fingers against his temple. Motomi continued to lend a sympathetic ear to his venting, but didn’t forget to pull the noodles out in time.

“They aren’t all idiots, though, are they?” he offered meekly, careful not to offend any sensibilities. “I mean, aren’t some of 'em friends of yours?”

Akira didn’t seem to know how to answer, mouth forming a slight scowl while he thought about it. “I…yeah, kinda,” he admitted. “Doesn’t make them any less incompetent.”

“I understand,” Motomi said with a smile, shooting sideways glances at Akira in between throwing bamboo shoots and nori into his bowl. “Just keep doing your best, hm?”

Akira gave a little hum in reply, but went back to staring at nothing pensively. Damn. Motomi really didn’t like seeing him like this. There had to be some way to get him to crack a smile. Everyone had something that would make them smile no matter what, Motomi was a true believer in that. It certainly wasn’t going to be Motomi’s jokes…past experience would attest to that.

Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, he glanced off to the side and noticed some pork cutlets. Akira only ordered them once in a while, since they cost extra, and in his own way Akira was very frugal. If he weren’t on a waiter’s budget he’d probably get them every day. They were has favorite.

After a moment passed, Akira was probably starting to wonder what was taking so long, as he finally looked in Motomi’s direction. The counter between them was just barely too high to see what Motomi was doing, but he could hear oil and smell something tasty, followed by the thud-thud of a knife hitting a cutting board. He didn’t have to wonder at it much longer, as Motomi reached over to put his bowl in front of him with a great big smile. “Here ya go!”

Akira blinked a few times, surprised to see a pork cutlet on top of his ramen. “I, uh…” He began, making a puzzled face. As delicious as it looked, he hadn’t really planned on paying the extra 300 yen today. “I didn’t order tonkatsu…”

“I know.” Motomi folded his arms on the counter in front of him. “It’s on me today.”

Akira’s eyes lit up. “Really?” Motomi nodded. “Oh…th-thank you,” he stammered, picking up his chopsticks and breaking them in two. The grey cloud, Motomi was pleased to see, had vanished. He watched Akira’s lips and just before digging excitedly excitedly into his food, their corners turned up distinctly. It did the old man’s heart good.

“Hey, I did it!” he announced with delight, and Akira looked up at him while sucking in a mouthful of noodles, brows raised in confusion. Motomi poked at his own cheek, grinning ear to ear. “I saw that. I got you to smile!”

Akira almost choked on his ramen as he scarfed it down. With a huff he turned his gaze away, but Motomi couldn’t miss the pink color that had come to his cheeks. “Yeah, so what if you did?!” Without another word he started shoveling down the rest of his food like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Motomi laughed openly as he watched him. This kid was just too easy.


	8. Fem!Akira and Cosplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a gift/request thing for a friend. I've wanted to do something with Motomi/Fem!Akira for a while now.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING:  
> This chapter takes place in an AU where Akira is a cis woman. There's cosplay, sexual content and implied sex. If anything about that makes you uncomfortable please don't read.

It would occur to Motomi belatedly, in the middle of a drag on his cigarette as he stared at the store front across the street, that he might have made a mistake.

He'd stepped into the cosplay shop with Akira at his side and tried to stay close as she doggedly browsed the racks, knowing precisely what she was looking for. But the sights were distracting, and Motomi had gotten separated from her rather quickly. Costumes of every imaginable variety were on display in their colorful glory. Depressingly, Motomi could identify very few of the characters. All the current and popular sci-fi and fantasy heroes were represented, but not much in the way of classics, things Motomi would recognize from his youth.

Further back in the shop were more generic staples of the subculture. Maids, nurses, flight attendants, even some short-cropped kimono-esque getups and shrine maidens. He scoffed. People were into all kinds of things, weren't they?

Motomi was in no position to judge, he was reminded brutally, when his girlfriend spotted her target and made a bee-line for a huge section devoted to school uniforms. Motomi felt his face heat up and turned away. It hit him just then how creepy he looked, being a hairy-faced middle-aged man in a place like this, and being accompanied by a younger lady might have looked extra skeevy...he couldn't be sure. So he bailed. Akira would figure it out and come find him after she was done shopping.

Of course now that he was on the opposite side of the street and staring through the store windows, waiting for her to be done, he realized this might have looked even worse. Shit. There was nothing much that could be done about it, besides hope she was quick and then get the hell out of here. All the stores on this street, he observed, were catering to a similar audience. Selling video games, character statues (Motomi had never quite understood those things), probably even those god awful body-length pillow cases with half naked girls on them.

His heart leapt with gratitude that Akira hadn't taken long at all, and she walked out the front door with a bag in one hand, peering to the left and right as she looked for Motomi. Checking first for traffic, he bolted across to meet her. "Got what you wanted?"

"Mm." She answered with a nod and gave a sly smile. "I think you'll like it."

Face going hot again, Motomi huffed and turned on his heel to start off down the sidewalk towards the train station. Honestly, every second they spent in this otaku haven of a neighborhood was a second too long. "I want the record to show that this was entirely your idea," he said, as if he could somehow wash his hands of this whole thing.

"Come on now, I saw your browser history," Akira reminded him calmly as she checked for dirt in her nails. Motomi wanted a hole in the ground to just open up right now and swallow him whole. He was never going to recover from that moment as long as he lived. Damn it all, he'd _learned his lesson about forgetting to delete_. "So don't stand there and pretend like you're not excited."

...She had him there. Motomi didn't say much for the rest of the journey home, but there was no denying he'd at the very least be getting a fun evening out of this.

\---

"...Okay, you can come in now," Her voice declared from the other side of the door. Finally. That wait had felt like forever...though the anticipation was probably a factor. Motomi cautiously opened the bedroom door, having been made to wait in the hall until Akira was ready. He hadn't seen what she picked out at all, so he had very little idea what to expect.

The very first place his eyes were drawn to were her legs. God, _her legs_. He didn't realize stockings were going to be a part of this. They were black and clung tightly to her skin, creeping up well above her knees and stopping just centimeters short of the hem of a pleated skirt. An _obscenely_ short skirt. She wouldn't have been caught dead outside in a thing like that, even if she'd been a skirt-wearing type of girl in the first place - it felt like the tiniest gust of wind could send it up to reveal what was underneath.

That tiny exposed area between the skirt and the thigh-highs felt like an unbearable tease, that little inward curve where they pinched fat, the black fabric starkly contrasting her pale skin. Motomi didn't think legs could make him this hot and bothered. There was a name for this, wasn't there? The "ultimate zone", or something? Whatever it was called, it was doing things to him.

From the waist up was more modest, which was undoubtedly part of the appeal. It was a sailor-style top, with a colored ribbon tied in the front in a simple knot. The shirt itself was short, though not quite enough to show midriff. The fabric draped on her upper body nicely. He suspected she wasn't wearing a bra.

Her hair had been left in its usual state, hanging just above her shoulders. She'd never been into styling it. Not that she needed to...she was perfectly gorgeous just like this. Her eyes didn't quite meet his. She looked a bit embarrassed, despite how haughty she'd been about doing this up until now. The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Sorry if it looks dumb," she murmured.

Motomi shook his head. He wasn't sure where his voice had gone, but his mouth had become very dry. He gulped, attempting to form coherent words. "N-no, it's not dumb. It's good." He moved a little closer, wondering what kind of face he was making as he drank in the sight of her. Whatever he'd been expecting, this was far better. "Really good."

"Well, you don't have to just look," Akira offered bashfully after another moment of his staring. She sounded like a bit of her confidence had come back. The power to make men absolutely drool on themselves was a great thing to wield, sometimes.

Motomi didn't need more invitation than that. His hands flew right to her waist, and she gasped a little when they met with her skin. Judging by how warm she felt, his hands must've been cold. He leaned in and kissed her, soft but insistent, not just because _that's how a gentleman gets things started, damn it_ , but because she looked too cute to resist.

He felt around her hips, and the skirt made an unexpectedly nice, smooth sensation under his fingertips. His touch crept back towards her behind, grabbing handfuls of the soft flesh. She didn't react much, but she was kissing him back enthusiastically. Motomi's hands moved up to her torso, feeling around over the shirt, until they latched onto her breasts. His suspicion about the bra was right. Nothing stood in his way but this flimsy little layer, he thought with a grin.

His gaze dropped down to her chest while his hands, huge compared to her slight body, fondled around the soft flesh and squeezed. The shirt was just the littlest bit see-through, he noticed, chuckling to himself as he realized a small part of her was reacting to his touches. Akira sighed, and Motomi could practically hear the eye-roll that accompanied it. She was probably judging him for looking like a cat with a toy. His hands dropping to the hem of her top and creeping up to feel the skin underneath, he pouted at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she lied quickly with a shake of her head, but couldn't stop a tiny smile pulling at her mouth. "Glad you like it, is all."

Motomi hummed thoughtfully, sliding lazy hands around her torso while his eyes dropped back down. He didn't _like_ it, he _loved_ it, and he loved _her_ for doing this. Suddenly he dropped to his knees in front of Akira, leaving his face level with the hem of her skirt and those tantalizingly exposed thighs. She gave a little surprised noise when he nuzzled them with his face. Admittedly, that was a weird thing to do, but fuck, they felt nice. His stubble tickled her, even more when he planted kisses there. He nipped a fleshy spot with his teeth and she all but squealed. "W-what are you trying to do, leave a hickey on my thighs?!"

"That would look good," he replied with a grin, and attacked with more fervor, sucking at that spot long and hard. Afterwards he checked it, and was pleased to see a faint, but noticeable pink spot. It would probably get darker soon. _Just imagine if Akira_ did _wear outfits like these in public, and someone saw that little lovebite_ , he wondered. It would never happen, but it was fun to think about.

Motomi's hands crept up her legs to push the skirt up a little. They barely needed to move an inch for her panties to show. "Woah," he said quietly. He hadn't expected this either. Brand new panties were part of the ensemble, too, as he'd definitely never seen her in these before. Horizontal stripes in white and baby blue. They hugged her body tightly, every little curve a thing of beauty, somehow accentuated by the stripes. She'd gone absolutely all-out.

"You know, I'm gonna owe you after this," he said, looking up at Akira.

"Owe me?"

"Yeah. Whatever your fantasy is, I'll do it for you. You can put me on a leash and make me lick your shoes, for all I care. Anything you want."

Akira gave something between a laugh and a scoff. "Like I'd be into tha--ahh! " Motomi cut her off when he buried his face in her crotch. Closing his eyes, he nuzzled into the soft gap of her legs. The material of the panties was delightfully soft and smooth on his face. Without a shred of shame he took a long, deep inhale. Her familiar scent, masked lightly by cotton, was still strong, and he soaked it up with delight. "S-such a pervert," she murmured from above him, and gasped when his warm breath tickled her.

"And you're not?" He looked up at her with a knowing smile. "It feels like you're having as much fun as I am..."

That shut her up quickly, making her turn her head away while her cheeks went bright pink. Motomi was even more delighted when he realized her legs were trembling, knees starting to buckle. There was a simple solution to that. Motomi stopped and stood up, giving Akira a gentle push backwards onto the bed. She gave a little surprised squeal, falling backwards onto the soft sheets. The fall rumpled her uniform a little bit, the skirt hiked up enough to show the smallest flash of panties and the shirt exposing her midriff.

In this position her top revealed the slight curve of her bust, just barely keeping her breasts covered. Slowly Motomi climbed on top of her, the mattress caving under the weight of his knees and his hands planted on either side of her. She didn't move an inch, watching him with rapt attention, waiting to see what he'd do. Considering her with a curious look, he slowly pulled up that hem with his hand, making the white fabric bunch over the top of her breasts, exposing both to the air and making her inhale sharply at the sudden cold. He smiled and hummed, staring down at her for a long time. Yes, this looked good.

"You just gonna stare all day?" she teased in a shaky voice.

"I don't _just_ have to stare," he answered plainly. He dipped his head down, and took his sweet time peppering soft kisses all over her chest. She went tense when he trailed his way to one nipple. Putting his lips over it made her gasp. Laving it lightly with his tongue made her let out a breathy moan. His hand fondled its twin, lightly rubbing circles around it with a rough fingertip.

Motomi was the patient one in this relationship. Always had been, likely always would be. He could just play around like this all day, and he gladly would; just groping and kissing and _teasing_ until she lost her mind. He knew Akira better than that, though, and pretty soon she would lose her temper with him. He played with her sensitive spots a little bit longer, then with some reluctance he picked himself up, getting off the bed and onto his knees on the floor again.

Akira looked down at him with wide eyes, watching him settle in between her legs. "Uhh...w-what are you doing?" Chewing his lower lip with a mischievous look, he answered by reaching both hands up her skirt, grabbing at the edges of her panties and pulling lightly. She let her head fall back on the bed, exhaling softly. "Ha...well, if you wanna do that already..."

Pulling her panties down to her knees, Motomi grinned from ear to ear. "Sweetie, we've got all night. I'm just getting started."


End file.
